The Apprentice
by Glowing-White-Wings
Summary: In a small town, there is a legend of a creature who lives in the church belltower, a sinner sentenced to be imprisoned forever. But when the monster shows their true face, who is the sinner and who is the saint? Rated for strong religious elements.
1. The Confession

(A/N: Hi, this is my first fanfiction ever! Well there's not much to say about me except that my name is Sam, I love reading, writing, anime, and nature, which is probably why I watch this show…I promise I'm not a freak, don't worry. And I'd like to apologize that there's no Ed or anybody in this chapter. Sorry! He'll be there in the next one! But read this one anyway, because it's very important. Hopefully you'll read the rest of my story if you get through my blabbering about confessionals and snowflakes and all that junk…lol.)

**Chapter One: The Confession**

_Chisholm, Amestris-1903_

In every church there is a booth that invites the curiosity of outsiders and the fear of the sinners. It is customary when passing by it, as a sign of respect, to cover one's ear. It's not unusual during service for a man to keep his back to it, for its presence mocks him. It is the soul's painful reminder that humankind is imperfect.

There are two compartments: the right one, the most furnished with polished oak doors and a cushioned bench embroidered with velvet. The penitent's stall contains only a wooden chair with a kneeler, and a crucifix hangs over the thin screen that separates the compartment from the priest's, for the unworthy should not adorn themselves with comforts they do not deserve. There isn't even a light. The only flickering lightbulb in the priest's chamber ignites the outlines of the crucifix on the opposite side of the screen, and the guiltiness in your heart and fear in your soul is multiplied tenfold as its ominous image burns like fire. A child's nightmares of tales of ghosts and wails of monsters diminish as he grows into an adult and instead begins to fear that box and everything about it: the light, the darkness, the crucifix; for it demonstrates that mankind's most purest evil comes from within himself.

But if all sin is selfish…then what of sin that is selfless? Is there an altruistic reason that a soul would be staint?

Then which side would contain the sinner and which would have the saint?

* * *

In a tiny, microscopic space somewhere in the volume of a cloud, miles above the earth, the water droplets were freezing as the temperature fell, sucking away the heat and kinetic energy that enabled the molecules of water to wander freely. They cooled, releasing the heat that separated them, the atoms of hydrogen forming strong bonds with the oxygen atom of another molecule. The molecules deposited themselves by nature's brilliant design, arranging themselves by their angular nature and the charges of the atoms, positive with negative, pair by pair, solidifying into building blocks of crystals. The snowflake wafted in the air, intricately carved in perfect form. The geometric planes on the branches of the crystal gleamed and flashed the reverse reflections of its companion ice crystals. 

The solidified water droplet suddenly became too heavy for the air, and fell. It swirled and spun, tumbling hundreds of feet through billions of molecules of water vapor and other forming ice crystals, through layers and layers of clouds, far from its birthplace in the cold, icy air, dancing around its fellow snowflakes, floating on the gentle winds that carried it.

The snowflake fell through a curtain of clouds, opening to reveal a view of what seemed like a painting of winter's wonders, as if the artist were sweltering in one-hundred degree heat and very much desired the coldness of twenty degrees below zero. Wind laced with chill caressed over the wooden houses below it, frosting windowpanes and rooftops, hanging icicles from trees, and carrying the snowflake to circle over a towering structure that rose through the center of the picture like its grand masterpiece: a giant cathedral, built of stone, presided over the small town, piercing the sky. The snowflakes fluttered around it, their view of the dizzying heights of its towers, the mysteries and stories of the images on its windows, the sinister gaze of the eyes of its statues, added to its image of majesty, regality, and power.

The snowflake drifted towards the belltower, blithely hovering around it, when its path was blocked by a sudden force. A deep, vibrating pulse shook the ice crystal to the cores of its hydrogen bonds, shaking them like beams of steel.

There was something…different…about this belltower. An eerie calmness surrounded it, enclosing it in its own sphere, cut off from others by something beyond the perception of the human eye.

There were stories told about it, how a person could pass by on the street and see a cloud about to pass directly above the belltower. On a particularly partly cloudy and windy day, a low cloud would be speeding toward the hill, going on its merry way, undisturbed. But as it got closer to the tower, the cloud would start to break apart, sliding around the tower's view of the heavens like caressing around a glass cylinder. On a slow wind day, a person would see the cloud approaching the tower, revisit it ten minutes later, and see the remnants of the cloud dispersed around the edges, forming a soft and fluffy halo around this architectural wonder, with the tower itself looking innocent and cherubic, like a small child caught standing in the middle of a floor powdered with spilled flour.

The person would have sworn that there was only one cloud one minute ago, but they'd shrug it off in the light of the laws of physics; clouds did not make way for open space like that.

And neither did snowflakes.

The ice crystal shuddered, broke in two, and changed direction.

The wind carried the broken pieces over plated roofs coated with snow, every window darkened, every snowy street deserted, as if the artist of this painting was indeed the only one who could tolerate such temperatures anymore.

The wind decelerated and died, distributing the broken snowflake shards into a cloister of the church, which, like the snowflake, was beautifully crafted with designs of vines with roses growing around its pillars, leading up to doors marked by a massive cross that too, would be broken in half as the doors were opened.

Delivered by the wind to its ultimate destiny, the flake shard dropped and had a view of its landing point. A man was walking solemnly through the cloister, gazing at the door with a blank look in his eyes. He was much leaner and paler than a man his age should have been. His tattered clothes gave the impression that he had traveled hundreds of miles, and his sunken cheeks and lank mousy hair gave him a somewhat unhealthy appearance. Even his green eyes, which were once brimming with animation, had been discolored and dull. He stood alone in the cloudless night, his eyes downcast, simultaneously wanting company, yet wishing none would come. He had the look of a man who wanted to be alone with his thoughts, to save the risk of corrupting someone with his presence.

He hesitated to trace his fingers along his left arms and draw the sleeve to expose the skin, which was enveloped in scars that had been repeatedly cut and healed over, to the point that they would never heal again.

And here is where the wind deposited one shard of the broken snowflake, in the palm of a broken man.

The shard absorbed the heat radiating from the man's glove. The perfectly carved design collapsed on itself as its structure melted, becoming free-moving liquid once more.

The man had been taught two contradicting principles which had been at war with each other for centuries. One had its origins in science, one in religion, both old enemies, since the beginning of time, both of which he lived by.

One declared that God had a hand in everything that happened in the world. Everything was predestined and controlled. The snowflake was created by God, and eventually God would melt the snowflake, and its existence would disappear forever.

The other one taught that snowflake would not disappear, but eventually the molecules of water in his hand would absorb enough heat to break free from the surface of the glove and ascend into the clouds where they would be arranged into a snowflake once more. And that snowflake would once again fall to the earth where it would land, and sit there patiently until it gained enough energy to float again. And the entire process would repeat itself, in an endless cycle. One is All, All is One.

He swallowed, staring at the church's entrance.

And he pushed the door open with a creak.

He would have preferred to believe the latter, that things did not just disappear, that everything had a purpose instead of predestination towards an unchanging eternity; that when you give something up you would always gain something of equal value in return.

Equivalent Exchange may work in alchemy, he thought as he stepped inside and the soundproofed door slid shut, but this was the real world, the human world, where religion decreed that one sin committed equals an eternity in hell; where Equivalent Exchange didn't exist.

His footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he walked, submissively, down the aisle, in between the circular rows of seats that all led to the altar. He made the sign of the cross, and kneeled before the Virgin Mary, praying for strength.

He walked a little bit towards his left, and stood in front of the box. He bit his lip as he walked toward it. Passages of scriptures littered with terrible stories of showers of blood, jolted the muscles in his legs to propel him towards the booth. Surely his punishment would be worse would he not confess.

He dearly hoped the candle wasn't lit.

It was.

"Enter."

The man jumped at the sound of the voice that chilled him to the centermost nerves of his spine. It was low in frequency, almost whispered , in a rich, bass-like tone that commanded and was accustomed to attention and respect. It was slowness of the delivery and the fullness of the voice that accounted for its gift to induce silence without effort, and that also made it more unsettling at softer volumes and when it was pleased…for whatever reason…

The door opened, and the man squeezed himself into the tiny hole and onto the rickety bench that just barely held itself, despite how thin the man was.

He looked up, and noticed the shadow of the priest through the screen to his right.

"Ahh…For…Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Pause. "Very well," said the voice on the other side. "What sins do you have to confess?"

The man swallowed. "I…I have attempted to kill myself, Father."

"How?"

"Stabbing myself, sir."

"Where?"

"Wrists, throat, and stomach, sir."

"How many times?"

"I've lost count."

"And it didn't work?"

"No, sir."

No response. The man tried to sit up straighter, as a way of maintaining his dignity. "You're not going to ask me why I did it?"

"I don't think it necessary," said the priest curtly.

The man's face was pale, but he prayed the priest couldn't see it. "Should you not ask a sinner why he sins?"

"That is not important, my son," the priest replied. "The 'why' is not important. What matters is the sin itself."

"I did it to get rid of a monster."

The priest sounded amused. "A monster, Adam Hawkins? Is that what you're calling yourself now?"

"I am a monster. You've made me a monster."

"You are an exceptional alchemist, Adam. You should be justly proud of your findings."

"My _findings_," he spat. "are the reason I want to die."

"You're throwing away a promising career."

"Consider it my highest honor, sir."

The man saw the priest's jaw curve inward and imagined him smiling.

"You intend to die with them, then?"

"…Yes. It is fitting that I die for my sins…and yours."

The faint outline of a jaw curved more and he was certain the face was contorted into a smile.

"Well Adam. I can't say I wasn't brooding on when you would try the idea of exploding yourself."

"You'll never get away with what you've done," said the man, anger in his voice now. "Equivalent Exchange. You'll pay for this."

The priest sighed. "Oh, Adam…" The man shuddered at the continued use of his first name. "My dear Adam…you could have been a powerful man. Yet you seem upset."

"I thought the 'why' wasn't important," he whispered.

"It's not a sin that you are ashamed, boy," said the priest. "More of a…disappointment."

"It's a sin to murder," hissed the man.

"Ah," said the priest slyly. "But I did not murder, Adam. You did."

"On your orders," the man snarled, his tone becoming sharper. "But if I had known what I was doing…"

He paused to pull himself together. "You remember the bargain, Father?"

The priest's smile faltered. "Yes."

"Then you will do well to uphold it, for I intend to die tonight with or without taking others. Swear to me, before I destroy myself, and all my atoms and fragments of brain matter that contained your knowledge are scattered in a million different pieces, or I'll go out there and explode alone."

The shadow did not move.

"If they disobey me," he murmured dangerously. "I will have no choice but to punish them."

"You would also do well to fear my children," the man added. "Should they find out the real story, they will seek revenge against you."

The priest's mouth curled into a grin. "I will fear your son, but your daughter cannot take three steps without tripping or stumbling and in what should be deemed a scientific discovery, causing a backup of three streets of traffic."

"Do not underestimate any of my family. My wife will cooperate only to protect our kids. But if you lay a hand on any of them, Silas—"

"That's Father Silas to you."

The man seemed to shrink in his seat as he spoke.

"Your time is running out," the priest reminded him. "Are there any more sins you would like to confess?"

The man called Adam Hawkins sat up and tried to compose himself. "No."

"Then I suggest you repeat Hail Mary starting from the time you exit this booth until your arrival at your final destination. From there you should pray for a speedy journey to purgatory."

The man did not speak.

"Is there something more you would like to say, Adam?"

No answer.

"Come now," said the priest invitingly. "don't think you can fool your old master..."

No reply. The only sounds were the shallowness of the man's breath and the flickering of the lightbulb above the shadow's head.

"I...I wonder...

"Why you do not try and stop me."

The shadow did not move.

"You taught me alchemy, religion, everything I know," he breathed. "I was your apprentice...

"Do you think I have done nothing to try and stop you? Can you honestly tell me you have absolutely no idea that I have been researching ways to rid me of this curse...this poison...?

He could not stop staring at the light, the crackling of the static electricity, transmuted into sound waves that traveled through his eardrum, pulsing into more electric waves that triggered the release of adrenaline...

"Do you not care that your secret-keeper is about to die?"

The shadow raised its hand, and flexed its unnaturally long, spiderlike fingers, as if inspecting them.

"There will be others, Adam," he remarked nonchalantly. "There are always others..."

The man tried not to look at the lightbulb, to ignore the sound of the static...he had always wished this box wasn't soundproofed...

"I wonder something myself," said the shadow in the same tone.

"I wonder why you feel the imminent need to impart this information to me.

"Oh yes, you came to make your last confession and inform me of your intentions to die, but I sense a deeper need. Not as much to impart knowledge, but more a desire to impart fear..." said the shadow in an unsettling whisper. "The only reason one would do such a thing is a psychological reaction to an elongated period of a desire to dominate that person. This only comes from a fear of that person himself..."

Adam Hawkins felt his legs shaking...and the seat did nothing to muffle them.

"Tell me..." the shadow seemed to grow in his eyes. "Do I frighten you, Adam?"

"Stop it..." he protested.

"Denial is common product of fear."

"I am not a child anymore, Father..." spat the man through his shuddering throat. "I am not your slave...you have nothing...you will never...for God's sake, would you fix that damn light?!"

Instead of ceasing its wavering, the light emitted a deep, ethereal noise as it burned all the more brightly, outlining some of the features of the shadow's face, its exposed, gleaming teeth.

"You didn't answer the question."

Adam Hawkins stared, fixedly, at the shadow's face.

"No, I did not."

"Care to answer why?"

"Because I believe that you only ask me why I fear you because you also, fear something...I am not sure what, but if you feel the need to impart fear into me..."

He purposely didn't finish his sentence.

"If you ask me why I fear you, I will not answer that either.

"The why is not important. All that matters is the sin.

"That's always what you've taught me."

He clasped his hands in prayer, and took a deep breath. "O My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

"May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you; and by His authority I absolve you from every bond of excommunication and interdict, so far as my power allowed and your needs require," said Father Silas as he made the sign of the cross. "Thereupon, I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

"May the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all the saints obtain for you that whatever good you do or whatever evil you bear might merit for you the remission of your sins, the increase of grace and the reward of everlasting life."

Adam Hawkins kept his hands in position, seemingly saying a few prayers to himself.

"It's a shame, Adam," said the priest gloomily. "You always were a smart lad."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, Father," remarked Adam Hawkins. "I, for one, take comfort that I will never have to be in here again."

He crossed himself, and stood up.

"Any last wishes?" requested the shadow.

Adam Hawkins hesitated. "My only prayer is this:

"May the day come when another has a deeper conviction than me. I pray for the day when someone has the courage to face their sins."

He took something out of his pocket, and gingerly placed it on the bench where he had sat.

"And I pray that when that day comes...so will you."

The priest waited until the door clanked shut before gazing at the silver pocketwatch the man had left on the bench, the wind of the door closing shut drafted to the candle on a small table, and the last words the man would ever hear from the priest echoed as the candle blew out.

"Until we meet again…Earth Alchemist."

* * *

After that night, a mysterious rumor spread through the town of Chisholm.

Whispered on the wind, carried through doorways, it spread. The strange consequence of the rumor was the sudden vastness of the grim procession every Sunday morning to church.

Although adults told their children it was nonsense, they were told the story of the power of the bells that had eyes, that watched the town for its sinners, that singled out one, that was never seen again...

Adam Hawkins' children grew up with that tale, every day listening to skipping children singing it happily like a nursery rhyme...

"_Blackest Night, Blackest Night,_ _towers pierce the skies. Avoid the bells, try as one might; cannot escape the Eyes. Blackest Night, Blackest Night, ashes colored red, the only time a sinner's free is when that sinner's dead."_


	2. The Monster in the Tower

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I didn't forget about this!! For some reason the prologue is always easy and then the first chapter you just wanna get it right, you know?  
Anyway, it also occurred to me that I never put a disclaimer in the beginning of the first chapter, even though I assume most of you should know that Ed doesn't belong to me, and neither does Al, or Winry, etc. If you don't know, well then, there you go.  
And I would now like to pre-apologize for the length. I promise the others will be smaller!

**Chapter Two: The Monster in the Tower**

_Chisholm, Amestris – January 1915_

* * *

"_Media vita in morte sumus:_

_Quem quaerimus adiutorem_

_Nisi te domine?_

_Qui pro peccatis nostris juste irasceris._

_Sacte Deus…"_

There is a time every morning when the sky is a sinister patch of blue, just casting off the darkness of night, when tables and chairs of denser black lay abandoned in the marketplaces, as a rustling sound fills the air. It is before the break of dawn, the time when the lamps are glowing faintly, like the embers of a smoldering fire. At this time these lamps are extinguished, and the streets are buried in the dark…

"_Media vita in morte sumus:_

_Quem quaerimus adiutorem…"_

At this time a creature stirs.

_Clunk. Clunk._

From its deep sleep it awakened, smashing into pieces a copper bowl that roused it. It stretched, emitting a trollish yawn from its mouth, its bones cracking as it rose from the cot. It walked, heavy-footed, rubbing its tired eyes, grunting…

"_Nisi te domine?_

_Qui pro peccatis nostris juste irasceris."_

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._

It found a small wooden staircase, and fell upon it, its heavy forearm splintering the wood on one of the steps. It laid its head upon it, and began to snore loudly.

_"Sancte Deus..."_

* * *

"The bells are late again. Come on, boy. Get up…" 

More sleepy eyes were stirring as the sky brightened a shade, glittering the freshly fallen snow on the cobblestone streets. A six-year-old, blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy stumbled outside as he tried to rub sleep from his eyes.

"Aunt Millie…s'too early…I wanna _sleep_…" he whined.

"Hush! Get dressed."

"But the bells haven't rung yet…"

"Never mind the bells. They're always late. Now put your shirt on, James, and bring the vegetables inside from the storehouse! Dratted bells…third time this week they're late…I have half a mind to have a talk with the Judge…"

* * *

The creature snored. It drooled generously on its massive forearm, which it had been using as a pillow on the splintering step. It was at this point that the combined pressure of its head and its arm was too much for it, and the troll-like creature awoke with a shriek as the stair gave out and crashed onto the wooden floor. 

It rose, dazed, rubbing its swollen head. It looked out its tiny window, and noticed the sky outside, it clambered up what remained of the steps, groaning some more.

* * *

"That's not how it's done, James. James, give me that! You do _not _slice carrots that way." 

James stopped mid-swing, the knife held above him, his own head barely clearing the countertop.

"I like chopping carrots like this." He mimed wielding an axe. "Chop, chop—"

"Stupid boy! You'll hurt yourself!" Millie snapped as she took the knife. "Worthless, disgusting little wretch. This is what I get for raising you!"

James sighed. There was no alarm like his auntie's shrill voice, which was the first thing he heard every morning. He sat down and made a game out of rolling potatoes on the floor while he wondered if all adults had voices he couldn't stand. He tried to recall what his parents' voices sounded like, but he couldn't remember them. He had just managed to roll three potatoes when the sound of the rustling wind and crisp air was replaced with the ringing of the bells.

"About damn time!" Aunt Millie screeched as she began to skin more potatoes that weren't being used as spinning tops.

James stopped rolling his own potatoes long enough to hear the beautiful melody, watching the belltower through the window just above his auntie's head. Silently, he was thankful they lived close to the church, and that the bells were always late. He would be too sleepy to appreciate their music had they actually rung on time. (He supposed that the ringer, like himself, hated to get up at that hour.) He listened to subtle harmony of the smaller bells behind the giant bell that rang out the hour. One...two...three...four...five...six. The six o'clock bells that should have rung twenty minutes ago.

"Why are the bells late, Auntie?" asked James curiously, resuming his potato-spinning.

"Hell if I know," she muttered darkly, her stout frame tense as she started peeling a carrot.

"Aren't they always late?"

"I've always been saying it; Silas needs to be stricter on that bellringer…or whatever lives up in that tower."

The potato hit the cabinet, where it ceased rolling and lay still.

"Someone _lives _up there?"

"Of course someone _lives _up there. Someone has to ring the bells."

"Can I see this person?" asked James excitedly.

Auntie's pointed face cackled shrilly.

"_See_ them?" she laughed like it was the funniest ill-natured joke. "You want to _see_ them?"

"Why not?" the boy's good-natured face pouted. "Have you seen the person, Auntie?"

"Once, I saw it during a service."

"What's it like, auntie?"

"It's a hideous beast. Hunchbacked, clumsy...climbing the walls like a spider! They say it sneaks around the church and you only see it for a second before it runs off frightened. The church rat!"

James had a vision, of a creature with a whip-like tail, a rat-like face, and spiderlike legs.

"I wanna see it." he declared with widened eyes.

"I'd sooner have you see a rat! Don't go near it, it's a monster."

"Yes, Auntie."

He stood up and leaned on the counter, absenmindedly twirling a curled shred of a potato skin.

"Um...Auntie?"

"What now?"

"The creature…is it ever going to come out?"

"Not if Judge Silas has anything to say about it."

"Does it...ever come out?"

"Of course not."

"But it's the Festival. Everyone comes outside."

"Not that rat. It will stay in the tower, locked away where it belongs."

James felt sorry for it. Even dogs were allowed outside. So were spiders and rats.

"But everyone and everything's allowed during the Festival, isn't it?" he insisted. "Even people who don't come to church dance and play games and laugh and talk with everyone. It's supposed to be the time when all rules are set aside..."

Millie sank the blade into a potato, accidentally chopping it in half.

"You miserable boy; only those of higher class such as Judge Silas have seen it. Even God has turned His back on it; you should fear that dread creature!"

"It…it can't be all bad," said James in a tiny voice, his eyes darting from the view of the belltower out the window to his aunt.

"It...it makes pretty music."

"Pretty music, my foot. Judge Silas is a noble man for keeping it up there. Who knows what it should do should it be set loose…"

She shuddered. James had a picture of a monster that resembled a troll stomping out of the giant doors of the church.

"Enough questions," said Aunt Millie. "Zip the strings out of the celery. It's the Festival; we're going to have a lot of customers today."

James turned away his face. He walked dejectedly towards the door to the backyard and the storehouse. In an odd way, he felt he had an attachment to whatever lived up there. During the daytime, when both he and the bellringer were more awake, the smaller bells rang pretty tunes that he, other children and sometimes adults liked to sing to. They were one of the first things he heard every morning, and the last thing he heard at night. Those bells were the only voice that creature had. He decided that whatever the beast was, it wasn't an adult.

"_Move it, you lazy slug_!"

* * *

Nearly twelve years had passed since Adam Hawkins had made his last confession. It was hard to believe that the landscape was the same. The sun's rays peaked over the edges of treetops of a coniferous forest, coloring the sky pink, reflecting through the leaves' morning dew. Flowers' petals opened in response to the sunlight bouncing off them, attached to vines as ornaments on the trees, swathing the forest in a divine array of springtime colors in direct contrast to the patches of half-melted snow stuck everywhere. As the sun traveled further above the horizon the angles of the rays started to break through small crevices where the leaves weren't as dense, brightening objects on the forest floor. Not long after sunrise the rays' light caught something that glinted and reflected it back. 

The object grew warm from the flash of metal, and moved slightly. It was the shape of a hand.

The metal hand clasped the fabric of a bright red jacket, which had an alchemic crest on the back, and pulled it further above the enfleshed shoulder of a teenage boy. It wasn't long before his long, golden-blond hair was gradually illuminated, messily tied in a tangled braid. The boy groaned in his sleep and turned over at the invading presence of the light. He tried to hold on to the calming peacefulness of sleep, but the beams seemed to focus on his face, prying open his sticky eyelids. Cursing the sun, he tried to pretend he wasn't already half-awake. Humankind was not meant to get up before the sun rose. Especially not after it has been sleeping on a ground that was about as soft as tiled floor but still managed to be sticky and wet.

"EDWARDDDD!!!!"

He tried even harder to pretend he didn't hear that.

"EdwARRDD!! Edward, get up!"

Edward grunted, irritated, at the sound of someone limping and crashing through the bushes. He pulled his jacket further over his head.

"Where are you?" More crashing. "Come _on_; I've been up since the crack of dawn getting breakfast for us and you can't be bothered to answer me?"

_Let her not find me..._he blearily prayed to himself. _I'm secretly not here...go over there...look in the bushes..._

To his great displeasure, he cracking noise got closer and closer until he heard her voice from several feet away. "There you are!"

He groaned at the loudness from beneath the cottoned thickness of the coat. His voice was simultaneously immature, mellow, and childish.

"Winry…" he whined through the fabric. "Not now…s'too early…"

"Edward, you've got to get up! You were told to be in the city by nine o'clock and it's already eight-thirty! You're going to make yourself and the army look bad if you show up late!"

"Screw them..." he uttered sleepily. "C'mon, Winry, just five more minutes..."

"Ed, you know I don't want to have to use this..."

He didn't answer. The clearing was silent until he faked a loud snore.

"Edward!"

"Edward's not here right now," he said tauntingly as he raised his left hand, as if waving goodbye. "Please leave a message after the..." he replaced the last word with another pig-like snore.

_Thunk._

"AAAHHHHHRRRRRGGG!"

He sat up, kicking his jacket off, rubbing his hand where the wrench had smacked it. He glared at her where she stood just outside the bushes, smirking and tossing her bleach blond hair over her shoulder, carrying a carton and a bowl of assorted berries in one hand while picking thorns out of her skirt with the other.

"Oh, good. You're awake. Hungry?"

He sent her a look of pure ice, rubbing the spot on his hand, which was turning purple.

"You know, I don't think I can accept food from someone who just tried to take my hand off."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she giggled, shoving the berries in front of him. "I found all these growing all around a stream we'll have to pass later. There's blueberries, blackberries, cranberries, strawberries, and there were some low-hanging branches on a cherry tree."

After she had set down the bowl she walked around him to get her wrench, which lay innocently on the ground several yards behind him. He vowed to himself to transmute it the next chance he got.

"It's actually very beautiful around here," she said as she returned, sat indian-style in front of the bowl and started to pry open the carton. "I can't open this," she complained.

Ed stared at the carton as if he expected it to explode.

"Is that..._milk_?"

"Why yes, it is," said Winry stiffly.

Ed looked revolted.

"And where...did you get..._milk_?"

She gave up using her hands, and resorted to using the wrench to force it open.

"I packed it because I knew it would piss you off."

The cap flew off with a pop, like a beer bottle opening. "Aha!" exclaimed Winry as she took a sip. Edward made a face. "Well, it worked. Just...keep it away from me," he uttered as he shoved a handful of berries into his mouth. "By the way, where's Al?"

"He's sleeping up in the tree again."

"_Again?_ He's gonna break the--_Al!"_

"Yeah, Brother?" said a child-like voice from above both their heads.

"Get down! You're going to break the branch!"

"But it's so pretty up here!" said the voice of Al excitedly. "You can see the birds and the sunrise and everything!"

"Hey, don't eat _all _of them!" Winry protested.

"Me?"

"Not you--Ed!" she yelled as he stuffed his face so he resembled a chipmunk. "Leave some for me!"

"Is he eating all the food again?" said Al amusedly.

Ed's cheeks were so stuffed, it was a wonder he spoke at all.

"Hey, I'ma da one who does all teh work around here," he coughed. "This assignment had better be worth the trip. I'm interested to meet this Thomas Silas guy."

"Who's he?" asked Winry.

"I dunno; I was just told to meet him. I _fink _he's in the military."

"I heard he's a judge," said the voice of Al in the tree.

"Well, whoever he is, I hope he treats us with some real food. I'm sickuff nuts and berries. Can't wait 'til we get to the shitty...Oh, sorry Winry," he mumbled, spraying her with the contents of his mouth.

"Watch it," she muttered darkly. "and be careful eating those cherries; they've got pits," she added as Ed nearly broke his teeth on one.

There was a sudden crack of a breaking branch; not from above, but the bushes.

"What was that?" said Winry.

More cracking and rustling. Ed wiped his mouth and stared curiously at the bush as well.

"Someone's coming, Brother!" said Al's voice from the trees as both Ed and Winry stood up.

After more violent rustling, three large, heavily-built men broke through the bushes.

"Well, well; what are you kids doing all alone out here?" said the first one in front.

"Eating, whatsit looklike?" Ed spat with a full mouth.

"S'not smart, travelin' all by yerself out here," sniggered a man with yellowed teeth.

"Who _are _you people?" demanded Winry.

"What's in the bag, little girl?" said the third man.

"None of your business!" she cried, snatching the bag out of his hands.

Ed painfully swallowed what was in his mouth.

"'I'm warning you; back off," he snarled.

"Stuff it, pipsqueak."

Ed drew himself up to full height, which wasn't very much.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PIPSQUEAK?!"

Winry backed away from the second man, whose breath smelled of whiskey.

"Ed," she tried to whisper through the corner of her mouth. "Ed, they're drunk..."

"Don't try and think of escaping," said the first one as he pulled out a gun.

Winry gasped and put her hand to her mouth as he walked forward.

"Hands up," he ordered. "Both of you. Now."

They raised their hands to shoulder height.

"Now you're going to give me everything valuable on the both of you," he smirked.

"We don't have any money," said Ed. "And you're going to pay for that pipsqueak comment!"

"That automail hand of yours looks pretty valuable," said the third man.

Winry momentarily forgot the fact that the man had a gun.

"Hey!" she interjected. "I made that hand! You're not about to steal it!"

"So does that watch you got there," smirked the second man.

Edward glowered at him.

"You better not touch my watch."

"Hey," said the third man as it dawned on him. "That watch..."

The first man unclicked the safety on his gun. "I'm going to count to ten..."

"Um, Roy..." mumbled the third man. "I think we should back off..."

Edward's lips curled into a smile.

"You better listen to your friend there," he smirked.

"Why should I?"

"You don't want me to get my little brother down here."

The man threw his head back and laughed.

"Time for your nap, little man," pointed the gun at Ed's heart. "One...two..._nine_..."

Ed's arms suddenly rushed inward as he clapped his palms together.

Several things happened at once. There was a bang, and a flash of light. Winry screamed. A cloud of dust swathed the clearing where they stood as a loud gunshot rang out.

As the dust cleared, the first man coughed.

"What the--"

Edward stood in front of him, holding the nose of the gun with his right palm.

"I'm sorry," he drawled lazily. "was this yours?"

With a swift kick he knocked the man's hand off the gun, sending him keeling several feet backwards.

"Now you're dead!" he yelled from the ground as the other two pulled out their guns in response.

No sooner had they unclicked the safety when the three men were caught in the shadow of something much larger than they were, as it landed in front of them from the trees, shaking the ground at their feet.

A seven-foot-tall suit of armor, brimming with spikes from the shoulders to its head, with glowing red eyes, stood in front of them.

"Hello," a child-like voice issued from the armor. "My name is Alphonse Elric, and I want to know what _your_ blood type is."

The man on the ground stared up at the giant in front of him. "Ohhh, my God..."

The other two backed away in horror, one accidentally setting off his gun in panic. The bullet merely richocheted off the armor; it didn't even flinch.

"Hmpf. Well, that was rude," said the armor.

"It's a monster..." whispered the third man.

"I warned you guys."

The first man looked through Alphonse's legs, and saw Edward crush his gun in his automail hand.

"You've just picked a fight with a State Alchemist."

_Bang!_

He had clapped his hands again, and the other two men looked up to see their leader in the air screaming. They shrieked and scrambled over each other, abandoning their guns as they tried to run back through the bushes, only to crash into a wall of rock and earth that had suddenly emerged from the ground in front of them.

"What the fuck--?" shouted the drunk one.

"And _that's_--" Ed shouted before kicking him in the face, and grabbing both of them by the necks to punch each of them in turn. "--what--you--get--for--calling--me--_pipsqueak_!!"

Behind him, Al had caught the first man before he landed and stared him in the face.

"Any last words?" he said quietly.

"You _are_ the monster from the tower!" the man screamed as he struggled. What're you doing out here! Oh God, please! Please, have mercy! Help! It's the monster!"

"I don't know what you're talking about with this monster," said Alphonse. "But if you ever...point a gun at my brother again, I _will_ hurt you."

He dropped him on the ground. The man stood up, pointing a shaking finger at him.

"I don't care...if you came from that tower or not," he tripped backwards over his own feet, clawed at the ground to get up before trying to run. "You are a _monster_ from hell!"

_Whack._

His eyes rolled, and he collapsed, a wrench-shaped mark on his head.

"Nice aim," said Al to Winry.

"Thank you," she grinned, twirling the wrench like a baton. "See, Ed? _That's _why I carry it around."

He reappeared from the bushes, dragging two unconscious bodies with him.

"You know, I know another man named Roy," he said to the first man's lifeless body as he dumped the other two on top it. "Just as much of a Neanderthal...although not as bulky..."

He sighed, and clapped the dust from his hands. "That'll teach 'em to call _me_ pipsqueak."

Winry snorted. "They had it coming anyway. They were drunk."

"Yeah, I noticed that," said Edward. "Who gets drunk at nine o' clock in the morning?"

He paused as he realized what he said, then hurriedly opened his pocketwatch.

"ARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!"

The three of them scurried to get their things in less than 30 seconds before taking off through the woods at a speed that would've impressed a sheep.

"ARGHHHHHHH!!! It's almost nine o'clock!!!!"

"Didn't I tell you to wake up earlier, Edward?!?!"

"How are we supposed to get there on time now?!?!"

"Al, just shut up and RUN!!!"

* * *

Mr. Hudgens was late. 

He limped down the long, thin aisle between the pews, his cane making clacking noises that echoed off the walls as he went. He never missed a morning of prayer, even during the Festival. He had an arrangement to meet a friend, but he overslept and had virtually run to the church, cursing himself. He valued order and practicality above all else, besides being loyal to his God. A few choice words before the altar, and he would be on his way.

It took a single overstep of his cane for him to lose his balance and topple over.

"Sir, watch out!"

A pair of hands caught him before he hit the floor. Mentally cursing his bad leg, he looked into the smiling face of the man who steadied him.

"Watch yourself, there, sir," he said kindly. Mr. Hudgens studied him. He was very young, probably late teens or early twenties. He had a kind, gentle face framed with mahogany-colored hair. The man lifted Mr. Hudgens with strength disproportionate to his thin and sickly-looking frame. As he calculated his appearance more closely he concluded that he had seen him somewhere before.

"Ah, thank you, young lad," he replied gruffly. "Damn leg. If it hadn't been acting up I might've reached the altar on time."

"You shouldn't be pushing it, sir. I have a weak heart myself," the young man responded. "I know how troublesome it can be."

"Do ye, lad?" asked Hudgens inquisitively. "I'd never have guessed, with your quick response to my plight."

"Only through God's grace I am well enough to help others," said the young man, flashing a grin. "I won't keep you, sir. I can tell you're in a hurry."

Hudgens studied his face again, sure he had seen him before, but he couldn't place it, and gave up.

"Ah, well...yes, yes I am rather in a hurry. Thank you for your help, lad. This town needs smart, upstanding gentlemen like you."

"I am honored to hear your compliment, sir."

His footsteps echoed throughout the room, off the towering walls and arched ceiling. Hudgens heard him stifle a cough as he disappeared into the door next to the confession booth. Apparently he had some business with the priest.

Wait a second. His cough. That was it. His cough rang a bell.

Hudgens walked the rest of the way alone, kneeled before the altar, and prayed, thinking earnestly and curiously where he had seen that young man before. He forgot him for a while as he concentrated wholly on the Lord, thanking Him for His blessings and praising Him for His righteous judgements, as he did every day. It was a few minutes later, once he'd finished praying and crossed himself, that it came to him.

He recalled another morning, ages ago, where he heard someone shouting, terribly violently, from the same room behind the door that that young man had just walked into. He had listened more closely until he heard the Judge speaking, in his cold and authoritative manner, to a younger voice that was shouting and swearing with such ferocity that Hudgens had crossed himself for hearing such language. The visitor had then slammed the door open and walked off in a stiff and strong manner uncharacteristic of one with a weak heart. He had been a boy then, presumably seventeen, but he had the same hacking cough, as if he'd exhausted his lungs by shouting. Hudgens concluded that this boy and the lad that had stopped his fall were the same person. He shuddered, sickened at the thought that he could've been seen in the company of such a delinquent. Only a no-good troublemaker such as that would dare to argue with the Judge. He was a fine man, and well respected, or perhaps feared, within the community. Hudgens had always admired him. People in this city needed to learn to respect a dignified, church-going man such as the Judge, and that required a little fear.

He picked up his cane, realized he had only two minutes, and started to limp up the aisle as he heard scuffling and the young man's voice in the room yet again.

Interested, he walked closer to the door, intending to listen. He was curious as to what the young man was up to, and he needed a good story and topic to complain about to his friends to explain why he was late.

"I'm sorry, I'm tired, sir."

Hudgens pressed in closer, even more interested.

"You shouldn't be out this early, my son," Hudgens heard the voice of the current priest of the church, whom he'd always thought was too soft with his congregation, believing the Judge had done a better job when he was the priest to instill faith in the Lord into the people he preached to. "Now is not the time. You know how he hates this time of year..."

"Please, Father," interrupted the young man impatiently. "I always come to church this early. It's--the closest I can get."

"I see."

There was a gulping noise, and violent coughing.

"Jesse!" said the priest gruffly. Hudgens heard a thump, and the coughing noises subsided.

"What--the hell--is this?" the young man swore.

"It should help you. I used several herbs from the garden for a heart tonic."

"Tastes more like heartburn."

"Drink it," said the priest firmly. "A man needs his strength."

Pause for a moment. "I've been feeling stronger."

"I'm glad."

Hudgens leaned in closer when no one spoke. But then he heard the young man's voice again.

"You have seen her, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," said the priest. "She's doing well."

"Good. I'm...I'm glad."

Hudgens imagined him shifting in his chair, for the urging tone of his speech sounded like he was pushing to say something important.

"Father, you...you are on good terms with Judge Silas, aren't you?"

"He and I...find mutual benefits in friendship."

"Perhaps you could speak with him."

The priest sighed.

"Please, Father, you're my last hope."

Hudgens heard footsteps shuffling. "I know you miss your sister..."

Hudgens snorted. His sister, eh? Probably committed to the insane asylum, was the only explanation he could think of. Or jail.

"I'm begging you, sir," repeated the young man sincerely. "if you could talk to him, or maybe just--"

"Absolutely not."

Hudgens covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. It was the Judge.

"Your honor," the priest mumbled from behind the door. "This is unexpected."

Hudgens could picture him, tall and skeletally thin, his figure framed by his long black robe, pale hands decorated with many rings, white hair bordering his thin face.

"Not quite as unexpected as seeing young Hawkins here this early," his guttural voice said smoothly. "this _is _a rare pleasure."

"I always come this early," he said shortly but with a trace of defiance.

"Indeed."

He added to the priest. "I have come to inform you that I have an appointment this morning."

"With whom?"

"A state alchemist."

"They sent one here?"

"I requested assistance with the task they assigned me. I was told we would meet in the church, but I'm afraid I have urgent business to take care of involving the festival. If I happen to not be here when he arrives, would you be so kind as to show him in?"

"I will, sir."

"Excellent. My duties should not take long."

Hudgens heard footsteps, and he imagined the man moving across the room with a characteristic glide. He never seemed to walk; his black robe just flowed around him like an octopus on the ocean bottom. It made him all the more intimidating.

"Going to screw someone else over?" he heard the boy say quietly.

"Jesse!"

The footsteps stopped abruptly.

"Assuming your definition of that phrase is drastically different from mine."

"Would you like me to elaborate?" Hudgens heard a chair scraping.

"Jesse," urged the priest. "Sit down--"

There was a very ominous silence. Then the Judge spoke.

"I assure you, to use your phrase, that anyone I happen to convict today has screwed themselves over," he replied smoothly. "and you shall refer to me as 'sir.'"

"I never referred to you as 'Father' when you preached here, and I don't dare show you that kind of respect now."

Hudgens muffled his intake of breath as he heard the Judge's soft footsteps approaching the young man.

"You're walking down a thin line, Hawkins," whispered the Judge dangerously. "A _very_ thin line."

The door opened with a click. Hudgens had slipped out of the way just in time, and had kneeled again, pretending to pray. He heard the slow, careful footsteps of the Judge echo down the narrow hall. He continued to walk as Hudgens heard the boy shout out the door after him.

"The day I show you the respect you deserve is the day God would sooner favor you over a cockroach!"

He had said the magic words. The Judge's face whipped around, his features twisted with rage. The young man had stormed out the door, perhaps ready to pick a fight. the current priest pursued him, his jaw set. He had just opened his mouth to scold him when--

_Crash._

A marble statue of a saint that stood in a shadowed hallway had fallen to the floor and smashed into boulder-like chunks that scattered everywhere, the head falling smack-dab in between the quarreling Judge and his subject. Both the young man and the priest stopped dead in their tracks.

"Saint Michael," said the priest with an exasperated sigh. "Oh well. Judge Silas, if you could fix this--"

"_So_," muttered the Judge with his eyes narrowed.

The other two turned their heads to what he was looking at in the hallway where the statue had fallen.

Within the shadows there was a small outline of a figure, with arms and legs and a head, standing upright, with long hair that fell to its shoulders. It was impossible to tell where its gaze was fixed. It backed away slowly, before emitting what sounded like a frightened squeak and disappeared back into the shadows.

"_So_..." the Judge repeated.

The young man had tried to follow the figure, but the priest had held him back.

"We'll see about this," said the Judge calmly as he stepped over the crumbled remains of the statue like crossing a pile of spilled garbage. "Mataaze, I shall bid you good day. And I trust the scoundrel _heathen_ next to you should have some decent skills to clean this mess up."

It was a mark of the Judge's high status that he could refer to the priest by his last name alone.

The young man showed no sign of rage besides the frown that he shot to the floor. He shut his eyes as the Judge tread the wooden hall, his black robe flowing behind him as he dissolved behind the darkness.

"Father, please forgive me," murmured the young man suddenly.

"For what, my son?"

"For my hatred of that man."

Behind him, Hudgens shuffled out the door as quietly as he could manage in his hurry.

Good Lord did he have a story to tell.

He had just seen the church mouse, the rat, the monster in the tower.

* * *

The monster was afraid. 

Up the stairs it scrambled, its fingernails clawing at the precipice of each step. It accidentally bumped into a nun, and emitted a frightened squeal as it ran away. It used its shoulder to bash open the door into the chamber where it slept. it snatched its small treasure--a round, shiny red ball--and tried to return to its previous activity before aching boredom had gotten the better of it. It crouched, squeezing the life out of the rubber, in the corner of the room below the window, where it would be hidden behind the shadows.

It had just wanted a peek. Just one look at life outside. A single window was not enough.

It felt a draft, and opened its eyes. The draft had come from a rush of wings. A white bird we perched on the desk which hid the monster, who looked at it with awe. It followed the bird to the edge of the desk, where the two creatures' eyes met.

The bird cocked its head in interest at the small, frightened figure that watched it with large eyes. It didn't seem to be afraid of the monster at all, who was still and unmoving as a statue. Ironically, it was more afraid than the bird was. Nothing of the likes of this animal had dared come this close without running away in fear. The creature's eyes followed the bird as it took off from the desk and landed on the floor in front of it.

In a prime example of role reversal, the bird gradually inched closer to the creature, inviting it to touch it. Out of the shadows the monster extended its left forearm, pointer finger outstretched, half-expecting the bird to take off in flight at the slightest advance.

To the monster's great surprise, the bird obeyed its request, and perched itself on the monster's extended digit, its dark eyes watching the monster's in gentle innocence.

"You're not...scared of me..."

Its tiny voice barely left the corner the two inhabited. The monster had anticipated the bird to fly off at its voice, but it simply brushed its head under its wing. The monster figured it hadn't disturbed it once, so it spoke again.

"You shouldn't be in here, you know," said the monster in a friendlier voice. "You don't want to be. It gets pretty lonely."

The monster's arm was getting tired holding the bird out of the shadows like that, but it didn't want to bring it closer. It was so beautiful in the light.

"It's a great day to be outside," said the monster, boldly raising its voice half a step louder. "Especially during the Festival."

The monster's arm dropped slightly. "I wish I could go."

The bird chirped as if offering a reply.

"Oh, I could never go myself," said the monster. "But you should. At least, fly over it once or twice. It'll be fun--there's great food and music and dancing--"

The monster's arm slumped again. "There I go making myself depressed."

Gingerly the monster reached out with its left hand and touched the bird's wingtips. They felt like silk. The monster gently stroked its wing, raising its hand higher until its fingertips brushed the bird's head. The animal seemed to be enjoying it.

"You're really not scared of me at all," said the monster half-disbelievingly.

The bird chirped as the monster's fingers slid down its back. "Sorry, it's just...you're the first. In a long time."

Under the tone of the voice there was a hint of a smile.

Step. Step. Step.

The monster's eyes flickered toward the door.

"Here," the monster held it up before the window so the sunlight showered over it. "Now. Before he sees you."

The bird looked towards the door, then back at the monster in the shadows.

"Go on," it prodded gently. "No one wants to be stuck up here forever."

The bird spread its wings, the tips glistening like crystals, and took off in flight, directing itself in the sunlight's path, but not without leaving a single white feather behind.

The creature took it by the bottom and gazed at it, in awe at its silky texture. The footsteps were getting louder. It stowed the feather in a drawer in the desk and hid itself again by the time the door opened and a billowing black robe stepped inside.

"_So_," was the informal greeting.

The monster didn't say a word. The robe floated across the room and positioned itself in front of the window, blocking the sunlight.

"Have we been talking to ourselves all morning, then?"

"N-No, master," its voice shook as it returned to its original volume. "I was talking to my...my friend."

"I see," said the robe noncommitally. "And what species of animal is your friend, my dear?"

"A bird," said the monster.

"Do birds...talk?"

The monster hesitated.

"No, they can't," it whispered sadly.

"That's right. You're a smart child."

The robe floated closer. "Now," it commanded. "Explain yourself."

The monster began to shake. It hugged its knees and hid its face.

"I don't have all day," said the bottom of the robe, which was all the monster could manage to look at.

"M-Master..."

"I am disappointed. So very disappointed..."

"I-I just wanted to look..."

"Silence," commanded the robe. "Do not test me today. I should have more important matters to deal with instead of a disobedient child. You are well past the age when I should have to keep an eye on you. Don't forget, my dear," the creature felt its master's breath on the top of its head. "you _owe_ me."

"I...I'm sorry."

The creature shook harder. The robe sighed in exasperation.

"Do you feel remorse for your actions, young mouse?"

"Yes," said the monster quickly. "I do."

The robe did not speak.

"Do not lie to me," said the robe warningly.

"No! I do feel remorse, I do," insisted the monster as it shook again. "Please..."

The monster looked up hopefully as the robe swiveled and strode away in careful steps, even though the feet were invisible.

"Tell me," said the robe to the opposite wall. "Just what did you want to look at?"

Although the robe could not see, it shook more.

"Tell me the _truth._"

"I..." the monster's voice broke.

"_Now_."

"I wanted...to go to the...the..."

The robe reacted as the monster predicted. It swiveled back and the monster buried its face in its knees.

"You are thinking...about _going_...to the _Festival_..."

"No!"

"You are lying to me."

The monster shook harder than ever. The robe descended upon the quivering creature so that every exit was blocked.

"I only go because I must go," the robe stated, its voice increasing in volume as it continued. "I don't enjoy a moment. Theives and pickpockets, the dredge and scum of humankind, mixed together in a drunken stupor..."

"I'm sorry!" the monster shouted in panic. "I-I didn't mean to upset you, Master."

Its eyes trailed upward, almost enough to make eye contact with its judge, jury, and if willing, executioner. It quickly looked down again.

"'Tis a shame," said the robe off-handedly. "I was considering letting you see your brother..."

The monster looked up so suddenly it cricked its neck.

"Oh yes," remarked the robe. "That was the purpose of his visit this morning. It seems he was eager to see you."

"He...he was?"

The robe paused before replying. "It is of no matter now. You have blown that chance..."

"No, please! I'll be good, I swear!" cried the monster. "I'll obey everything you say! I'll do anything!"

The monster dared to look upward, and for half a second, the Judge's eyes, hardened at its begging, gazed it in the face. It heard the Judge sigh.

"My dear, can't you understand?" was the robe's exasperated response and the monster felt a hand on its head. "when your heartless mother abandoned you anyone else would have turned you away. And this is my thanks for taking you in and raising you as my own?"

"I'm sorry, Master."

"There, there," soothed the robe. "How could I expect a poor, misshapen child like you to deal with such temptation? The Lord sees your pitiful form and your weak heart and heathen soul. He granted you mercy in delivering you to me. Out there, they would do nothing but scorn and jeer when they set their eyes upon you. They revile you as a monster. You must be faithful to me."

"I am faithful."

"You must be grateful to me."

"I am grateful."

The hand left its head.

"Very well," said the robe. "You are forgiven."

A hand reached inside the robe, and it left a bag on the desk. The monster further concealed itself as the robe turned towards the door and it felt it safe to look up.

"Three days," said the robe.

"Three days, Master?"

"Three days you obey me," it said softly. "and I will let you see your brother."

The monster hardly dared to believe it.

"You obey _everything I say_," said the robe. "_Without question_--for three days, and for the rest of the week, you may reside with him. That means you ring the bells at the exact correct time, stay quietly in this chamber until I command, and do not..._even think_...about leaving this church.

"Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Master."

The robe seemed to be finished. It glided towards the door with its perfect grace, and added:

"Remember, my dear. This is your sanctuary."

The monster breathed easier when it left. It snatched the basket on the desk and found apples inside, which it ate hungrily. The acid would bother its stomach later, but that didn't matter.

It opened the drawer when it was finished, and found the feather lying there in its silky perfection. It ran its fingers over the texture, admiring its brilliance.

"My sanctuary..."

* * *

A/N: At last! How that's for a first chapter? And if you don't know yet which classic book/disney movie I am basing this off of, you are deprived. Very badly deprived. It's a great book and an even better movie! 

Anyways, please rate and review!


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